Again
by EpicInTheLibrary
Summary: "He really should have dressed better."


_I. Honestly, I don't think I've ever hated something I've written like this in a long, long time. This was supposed to be so much more... good. Quality. The opposite of what it is? Yeah._

_This is for Miss Fenway, and Laura I am so sorry this is all it is. Actually, your Christmas present was such a huge project that I will never ever ever at some point in the far future have it done, so I settled for this, for now. This was supposed to be a thank you for... you know. Helping out so much with Project Love. Writing the whole story. Lalala. I failed so hard with this, and I am so sorry. For the sake of not being a liar, I am submitting this today, but because you deserve so much better, I'm going to rewrite it. I think it was all okay up to the last scene, where it just bombed completely and is a total cliche failure and I hate it. I'm sorry for starting out this way. Hopefully you'll forgive me. Also. I did attempt to center the theme around your BTR universe because I asked and you said I could, but you should know that I failed multiple times when attempting this so, sorry about any glaring errors in your plotline, too. I'm sure this is a blip in the time-space continuum that doesn't really exist. God. I love you, Laura. _

* * *

He really should have dressed better.

It's probably somewhere around absolute zero, Logan things with finality, shivering and wishing for the thirty-sixth time he had thought to wear a jacket. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But it was okay because he was going to a warm place, a welcome place. It sure beat sitting at home and- well, sitting. His dad was home, sure, but was he really?

Logan shook his head to clear those thoughts. He wanted to be in a semi-good mood when he made it to... where? Oh yeah, James' house. That's where he was going. A violent shiver rippled his shoulder blades and Logan thought of his nice warm jacket still sitting at home, thrown across his bed where he'd left it this morning. He wanted it to be on his body. Now. It didn't appear, despite. He shook his head and trekked on.

Between his house and James' was a forest of sorts- more like a small wood, really. It was what they often used to get to each other or meet up or other things of the sort whenever "duty called." It was a lot faster than going around, definitely. James called him and said that his parents weren't home, asking if he wanted to hang out or something. It was either- Carlos or Kendall who was sick with a cold, and the other one had family visiting or had to do chores or was babysitting a little sister or something. Logan was finding it hard to remember clearly. As another shudder ripped through his body, he recognized the symptoms of hypothermia- and uncharacteristically panicked.

He knew he should have brought his jacket, just- he wanted it bad, it was so cold. It was snowing a little when he left about- some sort of time ago, but now if Logan looked around with squinted eyes, he could see that the flakes now swirled about him in a flurry with wind that sliced through him like a knife that had been left in the freezer for the last month. His fingers grasped at his arms in a solitary hug as the shivers came and came and- no, they were stopping.

Stage... two. Wait no, three. Stage three is when the shivering stops. He thinks. How could he be so far into the condition already? Without noticing? Was he really that stupid? No, he just. Forgot his jacket. It wasn't his fault. Forgetting is something your... brain does. Not you. He didn't like how the lines of the world were starting to blend and twist together so he couldn't really tell where the next tree was. What if he ran into it? He could get a con... headache.

His right foot got in the way of his left and he almost fell to the ground. It wasn't even snowing that hard, it was just freezing. He couldn't feel his fingers anymore. Not even gloves? He wanted his jacket. What would happen if he went back for it? How far was he into the wood? How far was Kendall's house from here? Was he almost there? Wait, he was going to James' house. James. House. It would be warm there, he knew. He couldn't remember what warm felt like. He almost tripped again. He wished he had thought to bring his jacket. If he had only thought to bring his jacket.

His breath was harsh and ragged. He couldn't see the white puff exploding into the air, though, because the wind was blowing it away the second it was expelled. His shirt had long sleeves, shouldn't that have been enough? No, no wait, he needed a jacket. Where was his jacket? Oh yeah, it was on his bed. Right? Sometimes he put it in the closet. But he was almost positive he'd left it on his bed. Man, did he wish he'd brought it.

Now his eyes were fluttering, trying to blink away the flakes gathering on his eyelashes. He didn't need them, he needed them to go away. The wind was like knives hurled at him, but slicing right through him so that his body was cut into ten different sections that slid off of each other and toppled into the snow.

Toppled into the snow.

His feet lost the ground repeatedly before switching place with his head- he hit the ground hard, his right arm flinging out to catch himself before he could hurt himself. He cried out sharply when his wrist sort of snapped and folded- or at least that was what it felt like. His eyes felt like closing to block out the pain and though he squeezed them as tight as he could, it slashed through him mercilessly. He knew he had to stop it. Wrap it or something. Get back up and start walking again so that James could take care of it. It couldn't have been much farther. He just... had no motivation. He couldn't get up. It hurt and he was cold and tired and he never wanted to walk again. He could just lie there, rest for a while, then get up again. He was allowed to rest. He could do it.

Logan's eyes closed and his harsh breathing dwindled to short, shallow breaths. His mind detached and began to fall away, finding another place, another time, another life...

...

James' knees dug into the couch, his hands clasping its back as he stared worriedly out the window into the flurry of snow outside. It wasn't the worst he had ever seen, but Logan was supposed to have arrived by now, definitely. The wood wasn't that large, and Logan had sounded particularly eager to come over. Surely he couldn't be taking this long on purpose? Of course not. Logan wouldn't do that. He worried the most out of all of them, and it just wasn't like him to make any of them worry.

What if something had happened to him?

James tried to calm himself down; nothing was wrong. Everything was fine, horrible stuff only happened to people in the movies, the inspirational ones based off of true stories, the sad ones meant to make people feel. He wished he hadn't used the word horrible, though.

Another full minute later he couldn't stand it anymore. Something had gone wrong, something was going wrong right now. Every second he spent sitting there waiting was another second wasted. He was going to go find Logan. He didn't care if he was over-thinking things, that he would probably go running out of the house only to find Logan heading up the walk, laughing at him for having such a hyperactive imagination. He just couldn't shake the sense of dread slowly but surely building up within him.

He got properly dressed up as fast as he could, because despite his worry he knew not to go out into a snowstorm wearing nothing but jeans and a t-shirt. Once the door closed behind him, he became aware of how cold it really was and couldn't help but shiver. Not only was it snowing, but icy wind was battering at him from all directions. Shrinking into himself, he headed for the wood he knew Logan would have been taking, the familiar route that he could almost go through with his eyes closed by now.

It didn't take him long.

Not even three minutes into his search he managed to make out a dark bundle curled up on the ground about ten yards away, barely visible through the flurry- his heart dropped to his stomach and he knew.

_Logan._

...

It's freezing, and it's wet. He can hear it, the rolling, the rumbling, the pounding resonating through the ground. The drops scattering over his body, unobstructed, soaking him thoroughly. His hand hurts so badly, it's like it's on fire. He can't clench the fingers, because every time he tries the pain is so intense that he can't stop the whimper from escaping his lips. There's something inside his hand, blocking his fingers from closing. He remembers it clear as day. It's happening right now.

He hears something calling to him. It's too fuzzy to make out, but the tones are familiar. He knows it, he just can't exactly place what it is. It's on the tip of his tongue...

Something's moving him around. Loud voices shout to each other through the chaos. He's so cold, so alone. More coldness seeps down his face in thin, freezing rivulets. He's shaking hard, his hand shuddering and jerking and hurting beyond anything he's ever known. He feels like he can't breathe, like something is blocking his trachea and only letting in a half of a breath with each inhalation. His eyes try so hard to open, but the lids are heavy and won't let him see much. Everything is blurred and smudged beyond recognition. Images fall between white as heaven or black as night.

A dark, foggy figure hovers over him, arms outstretched. He recognizes the tones, and realizes he's crying.

"_Mom."_

He falls unconscious.

...

_There were strong arms around him. His head lolled helplessly, but the arms adjusted so that it rolled into a hard, warm chest. He tried to get closer to the warmth. It felt good._

_He was warm. He could feel his fingers. He was restricted in movement, and he very briefly could see a face before him, watching him. He couldn't speak, or even open his mouth. The image was gone. _

_He's protecting me._

_A hand was on the side of his face. It felt burning hot. Warm lips placed a soft kiss over his forehead and lingered, holding their position against him and never letting go. _

_He's watching me._

_I saw my mom._

...

It was hot, that was the first thing he could grasp. The heater was on full blast. He was wrapped up in blankets.

And he wasn't wearing any clothes.

Someone was holding his hand. He looked up to see James, staring at him, noticing with alarm that silent tears were running down his cheeks. He recognized the interior of James' house, saw that he was in his livingroom, lying on the couch. Naked, why was he naked?

"James?"

James sniffled and moved, but it seemed wrong to Logan, like James was supposed to be a statue and he shouldn't have been moving now. But he was moving, he was trying to wipe the tears from his cheeks. He wasn't acknowledging Logan.

"James?"

His eyes focused on him. He drew a shaky, shuddery breath.

"Can you hear me?" His voice sounded choked. Logan was alarmed.

"Yeah, I- What happened?" He was asking why James was crying. He wanted to know why he had no clothes on under the blankets and blankets, but first he wanted James to be okay. James sniffled shortly.

"You- Don't remember. You were supposed to come over, but then I f-found you, an-nd you were-" He gasped suddenly and shut his eyes for a moment, trying to compose himself. Logan wanted to embrace him, but he couldn't find it in himself to move. "You were in the snow. Y-you weren't dressed right. You weren't even wearing a-a jacket. Why didn't you wear a jacket, Logan?"

Logan remembered that part. He could remember cold and wanting a jacket. He left it on his bed.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, but James didn't seem to hear him.

"S-so I took you home. I was gonna run at first, but I was scared I would slip or drop you. So I walked, and I was careful. I remember everything you taught us about hypothermia. Everything, Logan, from f-fifth grade." His voice was rising in pitch and he stopped momentarily to compose himself. "You weren't even shivering when I found you. You said that was- that it was b-bad." His eyes were still closed. "You s-said that you were supposed to warm them up as soon as possible. Your clothes were soaking wet. You said to t-take all their clothes off and wrap them tight in a sleeping b-bag. They were all w-wet anyway. I took them off and brought a-all the blankets out. I turned on the heater higher. L-Logan, I th-thou- I thought you-"

He finally broke down, but quietly, head bowed and shoulders shaking as he cried into the hand he had pressed into his face. His other was still clasped onto Logan's.

"I'm sorry, James," Logan said weakly. "Really, I'm so sorry."

"N-no, it's not-"

"I should have brought a jacket."

James sniffled and took his hand off of his face, opening his eyes to see Logan.

"You did everything you could, James. You were amazing. You remembered everything about hypothermia instead of panicking."

"But I did panic."

"But you still took action."

"Logan," James suddenly said with a different tone, as if he'd just remembered something. "Your wrist." Logan looked down at the one attached to the one James was holding in confusion, but James shook his head. "The other one. Is the ice still on it? I think it's broken."

Logan hadn't even noticed the slight ache in his right wrist because it was for the most part numb. It had fallen between his body and the couch's back, the ice resting dutifully on top of it. Logan gingerly tried to move it up and over his body, but he winced in pain and stopped immediately.

"The ice is still on it," he assured James. Gently he tried to free his hand from James' grasp, but he wouldn't let go. He glanced up at him in question and James ducked his head, releasing Logan's hand.

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

James wiped his tears away while Logan moved his arm to rest across his stomach, gently placing the ice back on top and holding onto it. Logan pretended not to notice. His wrist was bandaged, wrapped in white. Really, unless it had been bleeding, this wasn't going to do much for the bone, and he smiled slightly; James had taken no chances. He thought of something.

"James?"

"Hm?"

"Why didn't you call an ambulance?"

James' eyes found interest in the bandage on Logan's wrist. "I was... scared," he admitted. "I... I mean, the snow was blowing around everywhere, and I was scared that the driver of the ambulance might lose control and you would get hurt." He bit his lip and looked back into Logan's eyes. "I should have called an ambulance, huh?"

"Not if you knew what you were doing," Logan responded carefully. James nodded, still looking pained. Silence fell between them, Logan thinking hard. About memories, or dreams, whichever they really were. He remembered that night, the one he wished he could go back and change, to erase from the existing universe. How it was cold and dark and raining. How it was loud. How it hurt. He hated going back to that time, but something was confusing him, and he had to figure it out. Why did he have two memories of the accident?

He knew from psychology he'd learned that memories could often be distorted by the vague guesswork of the mind, but he'd never heard of... duplicates. It seemed as though he could remember the account he'd played over and over through the years, the one that haunted him restlessly. And then there was a second one, an unfamiliar one, one that could possibly be a product of a twisted dream. It was almost exactly the same as the first one, except for one difference. In this memory, he'd _known_ that his mother was dead. His thoughts were unclear and rushed and he hadn't been able to make much sense of anything, but an image stood out to him, of a blurred dark shadow reaching out for him, and then his own voice, his fifteen-year-old voice, calling out disbelievingly.

"James," he said as his eyes filled with tears.

"Yeah?"

But he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He just welled up until he spilled over, and found himself crying. He couldn't stop himself, feeling ashamed when James failed to hold himself back as well.

Through broken tears he somehow got out the fact that he had seen her, he _saw_ her.

"But she's _gone,_ it's impossible," he stressed, shaking, frail. "James, I _saw_ her."

James confessed what he'd been trying to hide from Logan from when he had rescued him, and the crushed, demolished expression on his face made James want to hide his own. But he didn't; instead, he very carefully took Logan into his arms, cradling him softly, and waited until he calmed. Then they waited until the storm passed talking about everything that was nothing and the nothings that meant everything, and then James was able to calm down for himself. It was okay. Logan was okay.

"Logan?"

"Mm?"

"D-" James swallowed and then let it all out in a rush. "Don't ever leave your jacket at home again."

Logan carefully shifted the ice against his arm before meeting James' teary eyes again. "Never," he smiled. James hugged him closer, and Logan thought, he had the most incredible friends in the world, before he lost himself in a state of calm, sedated paradise.

* * *

_I don't even know what to say. The random tense change in the middle was intended. This will be rewritten if it's the last thing I do._


End file.
